Memories of a Monster
by Closemyeyesandleap
Summary: Ziva reveals to Tony memories of a protective older brother who grew into a monster. Very slight Tiva. The story focuses on Ari and Ziva as children, but includes an underlying plot about Tali and why Eli is the way he is. Sympathetic to Ari. UPDATED
1. Chapter 1

"Ow! What was that for, Zee-vah?" Tony grunted as Ziva, smiling in satisfaction, removed her elbow from his newly-bruised side.

"You grabbed my shoulder. It was a reflex, no?" she said silkily, suppressing a laugh.

"Well, can you reflex a little softer, Zee-vah?" Tony complained. "I was just going to see if you wanted to stay and watch an American classic, Miss I'm-an-American-now."

"Yes, and if I asked every person in this building, I am sure about two of them would have heard of this 'classic.' "

"Don't laugh, Ziva David. This is a true classic. I'm sure even McCaveman has heard of it."

"Well, it never hurts to be a _little_ more American, does it?" Ziva leaned in a little closer. "If you answer my question."

Tony grinned. "Try me?"

"What _possible_ reason could you have for being here, in the office, at night, on a Thursday, to watch a movie? How late are you _possibly_ going to stay?"

Tony's smile sunk a little. "I'm going to stay all night."

Ziva's eyebrows contracted sightly, her face questioning. "Hot date with a janitor, Anthony DiNozzo?"

"Not quite." He breathed in slightly. "It's the anniversary of Kate's death. I hold my own little. . .vigil for her every year. Stupid, right?"

"Not at all," Ziva murmured, suddenly serious. "It is good to honor the dead."

"I'm glad somebody understands. When Gibbs first realized that I do this, he smacked me on the head. 'Move on DiNozzo,' he said. 'She's gone.' "

His eyes were sad. "I have moved on, but I don't want her forgotten. She was the closest thing I ever had to a sister." Tony laughed. "She annoyed me like a sister. But she didn't deserve what she got. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't do anything to change these last four years but. . ." he stopped, his eyes glazed. His words were becoming uncontrolled, uncensored, ". . .if I could just go back and I could be the one to kill that bastard!"

Ziva froze. Tony, in his resurrected anger, didn't notice.

"He didn't deserve a gunshot to the head! If it had been me, not Gibbs, he would have suffered for what he did. . ." He looked up, and his eyes caught Ziva's. They were filled with sadness.

"What, Ziva?"

She spoke softly. "Tony, the punishment fit the crime."

"What? Are you defending him? He was a. . .a. . !" Tony stuttered to a stop and then said, with a touch of remorse. "Of course. He was your brother. I'm sorry Ziva; I forget. He was so different from you."

His anger was diverted by the moisture that was filling Ziva's eyes. The fire he felt over the death of the partner who was like his sister could not be compared to the distress he felt over the partner who was slowly becoming so much more. She never cried, at least never in front of him. Even now, the tears remained unshed.

"We weren't all that different," Ziva muttered, her eyes far from Tony's.

"Tell me about him, Ziva. Because right now, whatever you see, I can't. He was a monster, you––" He stopped, partly because he feared further abusing Ziva's brother's name and causing her to shed her tears, and partly because, in the flurry of adjectives that fit Ziva filling his mind, he could not choose one that concealed his feelings.

Ziva nodded. "You're right. The Ari who killed Kate was a monster." She paused. "My brother was not. My father made him who he was when he killed your partner. Death and war and pain and I-don't-know-what-else made my father that way. But as a child, Ari was my role model and my competition: my brother, and a good one."

"Tell me." Tony repeated.

Ziva started her story, her mind drifting into memories of an innocent time and the turbulence that made it all go wrong.

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**I hope you enjoyed it! Please review. This is definitely going to be a multi-chapter fic, so stay tuned if you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I forgot a disclaimer on the other one. NCIS ≠ Mine.**

**The story is going to switch between modern-day Tony and Ziva and Ziva and her siblings' past. While the story will correspond to Ziva talking to Tony, it will not be in her words. Rather, it will be like a story within a story, though everything written will be things Ziva has seen. (If I choose to do a chapter about something she hasn't seen, it'll be in italics. I haven't decided if I will yet.) I found that was the best way to tell the story. I hope that makes sense.**

** Enjoy!**

A small-framed girl of ten pounded her fist against the deep mahogany desktop. She whipped her head around in frustration, a streak of dark ringlets following in a whirl. "Papa!" she complained. "I have been studying this for almost two hours! Can I _please_ go to the range with Ari?"

"Ten more minutes," the man said warningly. "If you don't complain, you can go."

She smiled, sighing, and bent over the Spanish text she was reading. The man leaned over her shoulder and gave her a brief hug. "_Te quiero." _He whispered.

Her smile widened. "_Y usted también, _Papa._"_

_

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_

"Hold up!" Tony interjected in surprise. "Your father gave you a hug and said 'I love you.' _In Spanish?" _

"Why is that so surprising, Tony?"

"I don't know." Tony shrugged. "It just doesn't sound like the Eli I know."

Tony's mind had begun to spin again as old assumptions became unbalanced. He had tempered his anger toward his own father over the past few years by comparing him to Ziva's. Now he realized the unfortunate truth that his father had never shown affection like that, not even close. Apart from awkward embraces as they parted at the start of the school year (which were soon replaced by handshakes), Tony couldn't remember a time when his father hugged him as a child.

He was pulled from his headspace by Ziva's voice, sad and regretful.

"Well, it is not the Eli you know." She paused for a moment before returning to her story.

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"Eli," a woman's voice said from the doorway. Her hand indicated for him to join her. They both stood behind the doorway, but the door couldn't muffle their argument. The woman was tall, only a little shorter than the man. Her dark, textured hair was pulled into a tight bun. Her skin was tanned, and her narrow face would have been beautiful but for the deceptively harsh, high cheekbones, towering next to almond-shaped brown eyes. Those eyes were rarely anything but kind, except when the subject of her older daughter's future would come up.

"Eli, I do not want Ziva going to the shooting range as much as she does. You do whatever you want with _your son_," she added, spitting out the last words, "but _our daughter_ is not going to get into all that."

"All what, Adina?" Eli asked, his voice rising in volume. It was the same argument as always, and he knew the answer.

"The guns, Eli! The violence." Ziva's mother's voice became a pleading whine.

"The guns and violence, Adina?" Eli nearly shouted. "Her whole life will be guns and violence. The only question will be whether the guns will be in her hands or in someone else's, pointing at her chest. You want Ziva to be defenseless before that!"

The young Ziva fidgeted in her chair. She wanted to see her mother's face but didn't want them to know she was listening. Ziva didn't understand why her mother was so against her gun training. She only shot at targets in the safety of the range or hunted under the direction of her father.

Early in her life, her father's reasons had scared her. But through the last couple of years, repetition had dulled the worry his words caused her. So she turned her attention back to her parents' argument.

"No, I don't. But the way you are planning this, she'll walk right into it. You're sending our daughter into that mess!"

Eli shook his head. "Don't you get it? She is already in that mess. This way, she'll be in less danger. Ziva will be the best. She's better than half of my subordinates already, and she's only ten! And she loves it."

"Exactly. She is only ten. She doesn't know any better. She just wants to make you proud of her, Eli. And _your son_ doesn't help." Tears had begun to fall down the woman's cheeks.

"Mama? Mama, you okay?" A soft voice asked from somewhere near Adina David's hip. The small figure hugged her mother's leg, trying to comfort her.

Adina stroked the girl's pigtails, picking apart a few of the tight curls. "All is well, Tali, sweetie. Mama and Papa are just. . .talking."

"You talk loud, Papa." Tali's big eyes gazed up at Eli questioningly.

"Yes he does." Adina shot a glare at her husband and took the child by the hand. She opened the door and stepped into the study. Her older child's head shot back to the book.

"Ziva, dear, will you take your little sister to the park?" Ziva looked affronted.

"Mama! Papa promised. . ." she pleaded.

"I'm sorry. Maybe another day," she suggested without conviction. "Now be a good big sister and take Tali to the park."

Ziva sighed. "Come on," she muttered to her little sister, taking her by the hand, trying to ignore the glares her parents were exchanging.

She was still angry as she walked down the street, navigating the roads to the park on autopilot. Her sister stared up at her with big, worried eyes, confused by her family's fury.

Just as they reached the park, a loud crack filled the air. "Tali!" Ziva screamed, all thoughts of anger aside as she pushed her little sister down onto the pavement. "Down!" Down!" As the second gunshot exploded, she frantically tried to cover her sister's quivering body with her own small frame.

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**Please review! Critiques are welcome. Chapter 3 will be on in the next day or two.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Note #1: Ziva's views about Spanish are not shared by me. I absolutely love it. :)**

**Note #2: I decided that it would be best if I wrote Ziva and her siblings dialogue as colloquial, to represent the way they would have spoken in Hebrew. So while I know Tali wouldn't have called Ziva "sissy," I figured it flowed better than if I used a Hebrew term. Does that make sense?**

Chapter 3

_As the second gunshot exploded, she frantically tried to cover her sister's quivering body with her own small frame._

Ziva didn't hear another sound after the second shot. She remained laying on the cement, her little sister whimpering under her. "What was that, sissy. Zi-zi, you're hurting me. My knees hurt!"

Ziva glanced up from the ground to see a thirteen-year-old boy towering over her, a gun gripped in his right hand and a strange look on his face.

"Ziva? What are you doing? Are you _that_ afraid of loud noises?"

"Ari! That was you?" she asked indignantly. Ziva jumped off of her sister and helped her up. The little girl was still shaking and started furiously brushing her tears away. Ziva hugged her while glaring at her brother. "And no I'm not. What could you be shooting at in a park?" she asked furiously. "Idiot," she added under her breath. Her anger came more from the insinuation that she jumped at every little sound than her indignation at Ari's bad judgment.

"Calm down, Zi. There are no kids here now; there never are. And this place has the most––"

"Ari!" Tali shrieked. "What's that?" She pointed at a small, bloody mass on the ground.

"Relax, sweetie." Ari rolled his eyes. "It's just a bird."

Tali looked up at her brother with wide brown eyes, quickly filling with tears. "You shot a bird?" She burst into tears. "Meanie, meanie, meanie. . ." The four-year-old balled her fists but didn't punch him. Instead, she began to rub her eyes, angrily wiping away her tears.

"Great, Ari. Just great. Mama is going to kill me," Ziva ranted. "Look. Her knees are all bloody, she's sobbing."

Ari rolled his eyes again. "She's not going to blame you. Somehow, it's going to be my fault. It always is."

"It _is_ your fault!" Ziva muttered, hugging her little sister who was still crying.

"This time. But it is always my fault. Your mother hates me; you know that." Ziva did know that. Her mother was quick to blame Ari for anything that came up.

At first, Adina David had hated Ari because he was evidence of her husband's infidelity. Eli had presented the newborn baby to her three months after their wedding and confessed to an affair that took place in the middle of their engagement. As he grew, she forgave her husband but could not relinquish her dislike of the little boy. The child was far too willing to please his father, embraced the guns and his training with gusto. To her disgust, her young daughter followed in his footsteps. Eli was responsible for Ziva's early training, but in Adina's mind, Ari was the reason that Ziva grew to love it. Despite any evidence to the contrary, the woman couldn't help but think that had Ari never been born, her daughter would be far less willing to do what Eli wanted.

"Come on Tali; let's go home. And you only came here because you were afraid of getting beat by me at the range, Ari," Ziva shot at him competitively.

"Ha! You wish," Ari retorted. He got on his knees, staring into his younger sister's still-leaking eyes. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Do you want us to bury the bird?"

Tali nodded sadly. Ari took her by the hand and found a corner of the park to dig a shallow hole. As he led her over, Ziva complained, "I would have been at the range hours ago, but Papa made me study the stupid Spanish. Why don't you have to learn all that?"

Ari smiled wryly. "Don't think he doesn't make me study anything, Ziva. He's been pushing all that science stuff on me lately. I'm the doctor, remember?"

Ziva's eyes sparkled. "And I'm the spy, right? I'm going go get some information and save Israel!"

"Don't get carried away there, kid." He smiled at her, but something indistinguishable was in his eyes. It may have been envy, or concern, or amusement. Or perhaps a combination of the three.

The siblings buried the bird, Ari saying a few convincing words of regret that made his young sister look at him solemnly and say: "the birdie forgives you."

The two older children led the youngest back to their home, lost in thought. Ziva's mind was full of worries about explaining the incident to her mother, while Ari had skipped that stage, bracing himself for the torrent of fury that was about to be unleashed upon him. They stopped in the back and got a hose, washing the dried blood off Tali's knees. They stepped into the house by the back door, and led Tali quietly to her room, trying to avoid discovery. Then they both walked into the kitchen.

A huddled figure sat at the table, his hands on his eyes. He looked up, and Ziva and Ari saw that their father's eyes were misty.

Eli stared at Ziva for a moment before he open his mouth, and whispered unsteadily. "Ziva. Sweetheart. There's been a accident."

Tony looked into Ziva's eyes and covered her hand with his.

"Your mother?"

She nodded. "Life was never the same since. Everything change. Every_one_ changed."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Italics in this story indicate that the action happening in the past does not include Ziva. Neither she, nor Tony who is hearing the story from her, knows the details of what is described in the italics.**

**Also, this story is mainly about Ari, although he has just popped up a few times in the last three chapters. After this it will start to focus on him; I just needed to set some stuff up first.**

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The sun that scorched through the dusty windows was a cruel contrast to the dark emotions that were trapped inside the small home. A tiny girl of four wandered aimlessly, her face marked with the confusion of a child who could understand absence and loneliness but not the permanent loss caused by death. A boy of thirteen slunk from room to room in an awkward silence, as if he was floating in an unsteady boat upon a sea of emotions everyone around him was drowning in. Sometimes he stopped to answer his small sister's timid questions, but mostly he tried to remain unnoticed. From a back room, dry sobs could be heard, sometimes rising in volume and other times being choked back, but never seeming to cease. The huddled creature who was producing them was a child of ten.

Standing in the mockingly bright kitchen was a man of around thirty-five, as still as if the soles of his heavy, military-style boots had melted into the faded linoleum and bound him in place. His face was emotionless and his hands did not tremble. Only his eyes betrayed his thoughts and revealed the fear of a man who had held everything in his control only to have it suddenly ripped away. His wife was gone. The world seemed a few shades dimmer despite the blinding light of the early afternoon sun. The sobs of his older daughter were etched in his mind, and he felt a dull shock over the panic they caused. He could never handle crying. It was the hardest embodiment of pain to ignore.

He needed to stop it, to stop it or flee from it, for where no tears existed, he could pretend there was no pain.

He had tried to convince his wife of that. Strength, he had insisted, _true strength_, was the only protection he could afford his children from the sorrow the world had in store. He would make it his mission.

But for now, he had to escape the house, those walls that seemed to trap him in a sadness he could not control. Surely they'd have a mission for him. He grabbed his sand-colored duffel bag and slipped out the door into the bright sunlight.

* * *

"He just left the three of you all alone to go on a mission? And he didn't tell you? Your mother had just died!" Tony cried out in indignation. "Now that's starting to sound like the dear ol' Eli David that I know and hate."

"It's not like that, Tony. He often left inexplicably anyway. The difference was that my mother was always there to explain where he went. He hadn't really changed, not yet. He was just. . .quiet. It was eery. But after the mission. . .I don't know what happened, but he was different. Harsher." She looked up at him, suddenly curious and uncomfortable. "But why are you not commenting on my tears?"

Tony looked at Ziva, not believing she would ask such a question. "Seriously, Ziva?" The questioning look she was casting at him did not falter. "You are," he realized. "Ziva, she was your mom. You were _ten._ I'd be worried if you hadn't been crying."

She shrugged, and he realized that she was ashamed. What had happened, he asked himself, to turn the little girl who openly sobbed at her pain to the woman who kept her emotions so bottled up? And what had turned the boy who had so sweetly comforted his baby sister into the cold-hearted killer who had shot Tony's partner without a care or a reason?

He had the horrible feeling that he was about to find out, and that it had something to do with Eli David.

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_The smoky bar seemed to pulsate with music and rowdy, drunken conversation which drowned out most sounds. It was impossible to hear words spoken a few feet away, though most of the patrons were to drunk to care. It was for that reason that the seedy group had chosen the bar for their clandestine meeting. A traditional conference room wouldn't do, not for them. They were arms dealers, responsible for the transport and sale of firearms and other weapons that were far more destructive to several notorious terrorist groups operating in Israel. _

_Eli David sat with them. It had been nearly effortless for him to infiltrate the group. Undercover missions were his specialty. He'd never been particularly talented at hiding and sneaking and shooting. Forever the politician, his talent was convincing an enemy he was one of them, using them for Israel's aim, and then turning them over to the appropriate division of Mossad that would prosecute them or dispose of them, depending on their crime. _

_ In this case, he was posing as a foreign member of one of the terrorist groups. He had managed to earn their trust in mere days. With him was Mira Yadin, a young Mossad officer assigned to the mission to ensure its safety, although due to her skill with acquiring accents and her Iranian heritage, her cover was as an Iranian national eager to sell her stock of black-market weapons from Iran. _

_ The mission was going well until they reached the bar, when something strange began to happen to Eli. Every woman who walked by, no matter what she looked like, acquired the fierce features he had loved in his wife. He blinked, trying to focus. Suddenly a woman walked directly behind Mira and looked at him. She winked, and her face look so much like that of his dead wife he was unable to restrain the moan that slipped from his lips. "Adina…" His partner turned slightly, shocked at Eli's utterance. _

_ It happened so fast he hardly had time to breathe, let alone think. The arms dealer across from him whipped out a gun, an angry scowl on his scarred face. "Who are you? Don't lie to me!" He pointed the gun at Mira. "Adina. A Hebrew name? Strange. . .for an Iranian?" She glanced at Eli, and kicked forward, trying to knock away the gun. She was a second too late. The man fired the gun, catching her directly in the heart. She fell to the ground, dead, her blood pooling on the ground. _

_ At this point, Eli knew the mission was a failure. All the men were reaching for their guns. At that moment, however, they were distracted. He turned and slipped in the seething crowd, a crowd so loud and drunk that not even a gunshot could silence it._

_ Three hours later, he was back at Mossad headquarters, standing before the irate director. "She slipped, sir, with the Iranian accent. . .she lost it for a second and they realized she was ours. They shot her. To be honest, sir, the men were suspicious to begin with. The mission had little chance."_

_ Eli stood at attention, his face blank, hiding his lie. Admitting the amateur mistake he had made would have ended his career. He certainly didn't plan on a life as a benched Mossad officer, especially now that his wife was gone. He had to have something to live for._

_ Emotions. It had been his emotions that had failed him and made him a failure. It had been his emotions that had killed his partner, his emotions that had almost destroyed his career._

_

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_

The door slammed, and Eli slipped into the house. Tali and Ziva rushed to the door.

"Papa!" screamed Tali. She ran up to his side to throw her arms around him, but his whole body stiffened in her grip. She looked up at him, hurt and questioning. Eli avoided meeting her eyes and walked to his older daughter.

Ziva remained standing in the same spot. She looked up at Eli with the same sense of questioning as Tali, but also a look of nervous expectation.

"What'd I miss?" he said gruffly.

"Nothing much," she muttered. "Just my birthday," she finished quietly, her voice breaking. Her eyes met his, and she waited, hopeful. She wanted him to beg her forgiveness and then propose a family dinner or a day trip. Or better, pull out a brand-new chain for her Star of David necklace, as she had broken the old one the week before and was missing its comfort around her neck.

He didn't.

"I had a mission." he said firmly. They had to learn, Eli thought, and Ziva most of all. He had realized that. Despite all of her training, she would be useless if she allowed her emotions to control her, as he had so briefly with such devastating consequences.

"But–"

"There are some things more important." He turned and exited the room, trying to reassure himself that this was necessary, and that it would get easier.

He walked slowly down the hallway, trying to organize his thoughts. He did not notice the shadow in the corner, nor the eyes that glared at him from a face of confusion that mirrored the faces of his sisters.

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**If you enjoyed it (or hated it, whatever works for you) please review! I'm going to continue my writing reviews or not, but knowing somebody is reading does tend to speed up the process. **


	5. Chapter 5

_...A year later…_

In the year since Adina David had died, the David household had gone from sorrowful to tense to intolerable. Her name had almost disappeared from conversation, only heard when Tali would suddenly forget and call out, confused: "Mama?" Eli was intensifying his older children's studies more and more each day, spending a small fortune on private tutors and trainers. As for himself, he all but begged his superiors to assign him more missions, trying desperately to make up for his fatal mistake and revive his sickly career.

The day was a Thursday, normal except for Eli's presence. Ari sat at the strong wooden desk, his lanky fourteen-year-old frame bent over a heavy text. His heavy, black eyebrows were furrowed in forced concentration. He looked up hopefully from the labeled anatomical diagrams as footsteps sounded and the door closed behind him.

"Oh. _You're_ here. Let me go shoot targets with Ziva."

Eli's eyes narrowed. There was not enough of a questioning tone in his son's voice for his liking.

"No, you must study. Two hours of study a day does not a doctor make," Eli quipped.

"Oh good. So I can stop," Ari muttered.

"No. You will be a doctor. It is the ideal career for you, my son," Eli said as they began the argument that had become an almost daily occurrence, at least when Eli was home.

"So you say," Ari retorted.

"Yes, so I say, so your teachers say, so your superiors at the hospital say! They've never had a more able volunteer. And you are the top of your class in biology. You are the only student your age in anatomy and physiology! Admit it, son, I chose well for you!"

"No, you didn't," Ari scoffed, turning back to his book. Even studying was preferable to their never-ending argument. "I should be going to Mossad and Ziva should be the doctor. Your plan is all wrong for her. Look at her! She can hardly even handle her mother's death. She blames herself, because had her mother not been arguing about her, she would not have stormed away and gotten into an accident. She blames _me, _and I don't know why_. _What happens when she fails her op and somebody dies, somebody she's close to? She'd break." Ari narrowed his eyes at his father, who felt a sudden discomfort. Could his son know his secret? Could that have been just a random example?

"I would not!" Ziva rushed into the room, eyes moist and ablaze. "Take that back, Ari."

"You see!" he yelled, indicating his sister. She let out an angry, sorrowful howl and punched Ari in the stomach. He winced.

"You didn't even like her!"

He laughed angrily. "She never gave me a chance, Ziva. She hated _me._"

She hit him again, and still he didn't retaliate. "Don't you say–" she stopped talking abruptly as Eli grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her forcefully from the room.

"He's right. You have to move on," he muttered. "Get out. Go shoot, now. We'll be out in a moment." He slammed the door, his mind lingering on the hypothetical situation that his son had presented, worrying about how closely it corresponded with his nightmare of a memory.

After he slammed the door, he turned and faced his son. In the hallway, Ziva crouched listening at the door her parents had always assumed was soundproof. For years she had known differently.

Eli grasped his son's shoulder, his fingers clutching too strongly. "You may get a shot at Mossad yet, Ari. However, you must become a doctor first. But you _are_ mistaken about Ziva. Open your eyes and look. This is what she wants. She will learn to control her emotions. She must."

Ari spun and faced his father, his eyes ablaze.

"What she _wants_?" he spat. "It's what she thinks she wants. This is all only a game to her. You know, touch them on the shoulder before they can get her, and there's nothing to fear in that touch. It's just a puzzle to be solved to her!"

Eli's eyes remained inscrutable, his voice low. "You are young, son. Naive. I have my reasons. You must not question them."

"Really?" he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

"Yes, my son. Ziva will be beautiful. It's obvious, even now. I will be powerful. I do not want my daughter to fear attack, to fear a shadow lurking at every corner. The time is dangerous, and Israel is not safe, especially if I achieve my goals and reach prominence––"

Ari let out an emotionless laugh, but Eli continued on.

"––and if I let her follow a carefree path, she would cause nothing but worry. I would worry my enemies would use her to destroy me. She would be defenseless, unable to protect herself from men who would be all to willing to act. But now, Ari, now my daughter will never be used, never be held hostage to destroy me. She will not let it happen. She can stroll down any road at any time, confident and safe."

Ari's shoulders still heaved in anger, but in his eyes was a flicker of doubt. Perhaps his father was right, at least about Ziva. He tried to focus on his studying, but questions rushed through his head, entangling themselves in a net of concern and love, resentment and confusion, restlessness and hormones.

Behind the doorway, Ziva kneeled, still shaking in anger, and absorbed what she had heard. Her father was disappointed in her; that must be the reason for his coldness the last few months. She would have to fix it. That was the only way her Papa'd be proud of her again.

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**Sorry, no modern Tony and Ziva this chapter. They'll come back, don't worry.**

**I hope you enjoyed it!**


	6. Chapter 6

Ziva looked up at Tony and rubbed her eyes, shocked by the sheer effort of resurfacing carefully buried memories, the exertion of ordering thoughts that had long remained jumbled. "I'm sorry Tony. This night isn't supposed to be about my family. It's about Kate."

He ignored her. "Be right back." Ziva watched him go, her thoughts reeling. She felt a strange sense of regret. Tony didn't have to share the burden of the jumbled mess that was her family. After years of gritting her teeth whenever they brought up her brother, she suddenly did not want to wipe away Tony's preconceived notions about Ari. Hating Ari had given Tony a distraction; his death had given Tony closure. She didn't want to expose him to the conflict raging in her mind between the killer and the protective brother.

She was ripped from her thoughts by a tap on the shoulder. Suddenly a large red cylinder was floating in front of her face.

"Caf pow!" Tony said with false cheeriness. "I thought you could use some caffeine. You need to get this off your chest, don't you?"

To his surprise, she laughed. "That would make you _very_ happy, hm?"

"Um, what?" He asked, confused. Then his eyes lit up in understanding. "It's an expression, Ziva! Give me some credit here."

Ziva nodded. "Perhaps I should. Thank you for the caffeine. Taking a leaf out of Abby's brook, are you?"

"Strike two, Lady Liberty. It's book." Turning serious again, he asked: "So did it get any better?" Her face fell. "Stupid question. Of course it didn't." he muttered, images of Kate lying dead on the grey rooftop and Eli David's coolly irate face flashing through his mind simultaneously.

"No, it did not. His eyes were regretful at first, when he would ignore Tali's tears when she missed our mother. That look slowly went away."

Smiling sadly, Ziva continued her story.

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**Sorry for the short chapter. I should have lots of time to think and write this weekend. Don't let the short length take away from reviewing, though!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: My comment about colloquial English representing colloquial Hebrew still applies. A curse in English represents a similar curse in Hebrew.**

**Warning: Mention of a pedophile in this chapter.**

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_A year later_

The front closed with a slam, shutting out the dimming light of the sun. Fifteen-year-old Ari glanced around. Nothing had changed, at least not in the physical appearance of the house. He wondered for perhaps the hundredth time what had made him believe his father's insistence that this home was the best place for him, that things were getting better. He laughed at himself out loud, a cynical, humorless laugh. Did he really believe his father? No.

He had returned, like he always did, because he missed the physical comforts of the home, the chance to taunt his sisters, and, above all, the familiarity of his surroundings. While away, those around him would whisper constantly, gossiping about the periodic arrivals of the scowling Jewish boy to the home of his Arab mother, a woman that they had long supposed to be childless. The bolder of the whisperers would question him, a slight accusation always present in their voices. Though at his school in Tel Aviv he was not a particularly popular student––his classmates knew him only as the cynical kid who beat them at every test––they at least accepted his existence without question and allowed him to live his life generally undisturbed. While they thought him strange and off-putting, they all knew that mocking him was not in their best interest.

His laugh had alerted the only two occupants of the house who came rushing into the kitchen in surprise. One was tall and slender, her child's body showing early signs of surrendering to a woman's form. The other was short and beamed at him from a round and joyous face. So different the two girls were, yet they were easily identifiable as sisters by their identical manes of uncontrollable dark hair.

"Ari!" Tali shouted, and hugged him. He gave her a short, one-armed embrace in return.

Ziva, on the hand, looked at him with a strange mixture of relief and frustration. "Look who decided to show up," she muttered.

He ignored her. "Father's not here," Ari said, his voicing lacking surprise. "How long has he been gone this time?"

"Two weeks, maybe three. You've been gone longer," Ziva accused.

He stared at her. She had never been this annoyed with him, though he had run away and returned several times over the past year. What was making her so irritable?

"It's somebody's time of the month, I –ow!" Ari mocked, but was cut off by a painful blow to the shin.

"No," Ziva said firmly. Six-year-old Tali glanced between her teenage siblings in confusion.

"Then what's up with you? Are you telling me you're this angry for no good reason?" he baited.

Ziva's eyes narrowed, and then she dropped her guard. "I'll tell you later," she murmured, casting a quick look down at her sister.

"Later" arrived with haste, after a dinner full of Tali's hyper, happy babbling. Ziva led the little girl to study and, against the child's protests, set her to work doing the simple math problems assigned by her teacher. "You want to show Papa that you've been working hard when he comes back, don't you?" she insisted.

"I guess. How long?" Tali pleaded.

After a second's thought, Ziva replied: "an hour."

Tali's face immediately lit up, confusing Ziva.

"Sweetie, I meant you have to do your homework for an hour," she explained. "What did you think I was saying?"

"Papa's not coming home tonight?" Tali said, her voice laced with sadness.

"No. He'll be home. . ." Ziva hesitated. ". . .soon. Now do your math so you can show him how you've improved when you see him." She turned and walked to the door muttering, almost inaudibly, "whenever that is."

Ziva slipped through the doorway and was walking back to her room to do some reading when someone caught her by the arm in the darkness. She jerked around, prepared to fight, before realizing that the hand that held her shoulder was her brother's.

"What were you saying earlier?" Ari asked earnestly.

"Not here. That door is useless at blocking sound." Ziva led him down the hallway and stepped inside her bedroom. She sat down on the deep green sheets, kicking aside the box of discarded stuffed animals on the floor.

"_Another change_," Ari thought, wondering if their father would even notice when he finally returned.

Ziva hesitated. Facing her brother, her concerns suddenly felt silly in her mind as they fought against a long-exercised habit of feigning a lack of concern in order to avoid complaining and appearing weak.

"It's nothing," she muttered, turning away.

"Yeah, it seems like nothing," Ari replied sarcastically.

Ziva took a deep breath, then replied. "It's our Turkish tutor. He's gotten really. . .creepy. It's stupid; I know. It's just," she paused, trying to get her thoughts together, "Tali will be reciting something, right, but he'll be staring at me instead, and his smile will be so strange. And he's started sitting at my side of the table, he says that it is to check my work, but once he touched my leg. . .it's stupid, right?" Ziva finished suddenly.

Ari's face contorted with anger, and it shocked Ziva. He had never shown such obvious concern for her before.

"Has he done anything else? Touched you anywhere else?" Ari said, his words sliding together in fury.

"No," Ziva insisted, and Ari saw that she wasn't lying. But not doing anything––that didn't sound like his sister.

"Why didn't you kick his ass?" he questioned furiously. "Or his shin?" Ari added as an afterthought, rubbing the swollen spot on his leg.

"His father is a friend of Papa's. Do you think he'd believe me if I were to accuse him? I don't. And Papa's been saying that I've been falling behind in my languages, and if I did that he'd never believe it wasn't just an excuse to get out of studying." She hung her head at Ari's look of disbelief. "I didn't want him to be disappointed in me."

"When does this tutor come in again?"

"Tomorrow," Ziva replied, wondering what Ari was planning.

When Ari spoke, his voice was firm. Authoritative. "I have a way to handle this, and you can't refuse. If need be, I'll explain what happens to our father. He'll be angry enough at me just for leaving." He smiled wryly and added in an irony-laced tone, "I doubt attacking his friend's son will make his reaction _that _much worse."

* * *

The two teenagers stood in the dark corners of the kitchen, awaiting the turn of the doorknob that would announce the tutor's arrival. As it began to rotate, Ari nodded at Ziva from across the room. The second the door swung open, they pounced. In seconds, Ari was sitting on his wide chest, his hand clutching the man's thick neck. Ziva stood above them, and, grinning at her brother, she gave the tutor's left shin five hard, solid kicks.

The man grunted in indignation and in pain. "Get off me," he wheezed through his constricted windpipe.

"No," Ari hissed. "Don't you dare touch my sister again! If you come within sight of this house, there is _so_ much more than this coming to you. Do we understand each other?" His hand closed still tighter.

Spluttering, the tutor answered, "Fine! Fine!"

Before releasing his grip, Ari added. "You gave up this job because it took up too much of your time. Your bruises came from, well, I don't really care where; they just didn't come from us. If anyone is told even a small bit of the truth, we will ensure that everybody knows what a slimy pervert you are." The man agreed immediately. They let him up, and he hobbled out of the house, glaring at them as he went.

The moment the door closed, Ziva turned to Ari, eyes wide. "Please don't tell Papa, or anyone, about any of this. They'll think I couldn't handle it myself."

Ari shook his head. "I told that scum the truth, Ziva. If he stays quiet, we're quiet. But if he blames us for his injuries, I'll have no choice."

Ziva didn't look completely satisfied, but she was cut off by a wail from the other end of the room. "You two are horrible!" Tali cried. "Mr. Demir was nice, and you hurt him. What'd he do to you?" Her cries escalated.

"Tali, you don't understand. He was not a nice man," insisted Ari.

"You don't hurt people, Ari. You don't!" Tali turned and stormed out, her small hands in fists.

* * *

Tony was quiet for a second. He felt his view of the man he had hated so intensely slowly shift. While he realized he was unlikely ever to forgive Ari for what he had done to Kate, Tony no longer considered Ari the embodiment of pure evil. Ziva's words tore him from his internal conflict.

"Demir broke his promise. I do not think he thought we would actually tell. Eli was livid when he returned a week later. I protested, but Ari told him everything. Eli did not believe him. I was right; he trusted his friend implicitly and would not think badly of the man's son." She suddenly faltered, a spark of horrified realization running across her face. "Ari… he never left again after that," she added in shock.

Tony glanced at her, confused. "Okay, you lost me. What are you thinkin'?"

Ziva smiled a joyless half-smile. "Ari never left home again. Just like my father wanted."

Realization dawned in Tony's face. "No," he muttered. "Ziva, your father was, and is, an awful S.O.B. but he would never have-" he searched for the right word "-_arranged_ something like that."

She shrugged sadly. "It does not really matter, not now. I guess I will never know."

* * *

**A/N (part two): I left the ending of this chapter purposefully ambiguous. While Eli David is manipulative and negligent and all that, part of me thinks that he wouldn't go that far. Then I think about everything else he did to her and think he **_**may**_** have been able to if he thought he would lose his potential asset, especially if he knew nothing would actually happen to Ziva. So you, like Ziva and Tony in my story, can decide just how evil and expedient you think Eli David had become by that point.**

**Sorry if you think that is a cop-out, but I think the ambiguity fits the story.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Bad news. This chapter was painful to write, so I don't know how it will be to read. I don't really like how it turned out.**

**Bad news part two. This has taken **_**forever**_** to write compared to my regular standards. I'm sorry about that.**

**Good news. In my writer's block, I wrote the next chapter already, and it's a pretty long one! That shouldn't take long to post. But it is really sad too. That's kind of inevitable with the subject matter though, knowing where the family ends up. **

**Neutral news: According to the **_**very**_** reliable source known as wikipedia, **_**tirón **_**is the lowest rank of enlisted soldiers in the Israeli military.**

**Warning: Attack, fight, and implied rape, with language to match. Be forewarned.**

**Okay, I'll stop my justifications and leave you to read.**

**

* * *

**

_Two years later_

"I'll race you back. Let's take the shortcut!" Eight-year-old Tali proposed to her brother and sister, her voice more hyper than usual on account of the rich meal they had just eaten. Tomorrow, Ari was scheduled to leave to begin his period in the military. To celebrate his departure, the family had walked to his favorite restaurant.

"Bet I'll beat you, Mr. Tirón sir!" Tali laughed.

"I'll beat both of you!" the competitive, fifteen-year-old Ziva interjected.

"You two are such children. Do you think I want to be tired tomorrow?" Ari complained, smiling. Even as angry as he was at his father, he couldn't help but feel a rush of joy earlier at the way his father clapped his hand on his shoulder before toasting him and said "I'm proud of you, son." The strange feeling had put him more at ease than he had been in the past six years.

"Wimp," Ziva muttered, punching him playfully on the arm. Ari waited for her to turn around, then winced and rubbed the place she had hit him. Great, now he'd have bruise for tomorrow.

"Well, I'll just have to settle for beating you, Tali!" Ziva ran ahead.

"Hey no fair!" Tali ran after her. The two turned down a side street and disappeared from view.

* * *

_Ari and Eli walked together in an awkward silence. Despite the toast, their relationship remained strained, like always. Without speaking, they both decided to take the same shortcut Tali and Ziva had taken._

_Turning the corner, they saw a small figure fifteen feet ahead of them, trembling in the narrow alley. "Tali!" They ran to her. The girl was biting her lips, hard, trying to hold in her tears. In the David household, tears meant punishment._

"_M- m- my ankle." She choked. They looked down and, indeed, her small left ankle was twisted in an awkward position on the pavement._

"_Tali, what did I tell you about checking where you run. This is what I was talking about," Eli groaned. His youngest would take far more effort to train that the others; of this he was certain. _

_Ari hoisted the young girl into his arms and the three moved forward. "Ziva must far, far away by now," Tali sniffed. "She'll never stop bragging now." _

_Ari turned the corner with the child, and the sight he saw froze his feet to the pavement. Two men were standing in the alley, blocking Ziva's way. The night was so dark and the three were so far away, he could hardly see them. He only recognized his sister by her stance, her fist held aloft in her own particular way. She was in full fight mode._

_Ari almost dropped Tali in shock. As it was, he pushed the girl toward Eli David, prepared to run in and destroy those threatening his sister. Eli, however, reached out and grabbed Ari's arm. _

"_No."_

"_What!" Ari asked, incredulous, trying to get the man to take the eight-year-old from his arms._

"_There are only two. You know she can take down three men that size. If you help, she will never learn she's able."_

"_Bu-"_

"_You are leaving tomorrow, Ari!" Eli said, his voice forceful and hurried. "You can't protect her. Only she can do that. Don't hurt her in the future by weakening her."_

_In Ari's mind, the same doubt that had plagued him since his conversation with Eli three years ago tormented him again. Was he hurting her, really, by helping her? Eli was right; she could take two or three men that size. She had gloated about it enough. He wouldn't always be there to protect her, in fact, in just a day he would be gone._

_Confident that she would return in mere minutes bragging happily about her success in her first, real-danger fight, he suppressed his worries and followed his father on another route home, grasping his shaking sister in his arms. "We'll get it better in a moment, Tali," he comforted her as he walked._

_

* * *

_

Eli was right-at least partially. Ziva was nearly vibrating with excitement. She knocked one of the men aside effortlessly with a strong, well placed kick to his diaphragm. He staggered back, and breathlessly cursed at her. She laughed confidentially as she spun and caught the other man in the groin with a round-house kick. The man let out a howl, widening her smile. She let her hand drop for a second as she saw her two attackers incapacitated. It was too easy.

She didn't expect strong hands to grasp her wrists from behind and twist them painfully.

"What's this, boys?" the newcomer leered. Two other men appeared in the shadows.

One of the men Ziva had struck, emboldened by the reinforcements, mocked. "She just ran right to us, isn't that true, little whore? If you wanted us so bad, you coulda asked."

The fun was gone for Ziva. She was infuriated. She flung her right leg back, despite the aching pain in her shoulders as she did so, struck the man behind her in the groin. He dropped her arms. However, the two men she had brought down early had regained their strength and were angrier than ever. The five men advanced on her, and the one she had just incapacitated grunted and joined them.

Ziva's arms and legs flew in every direction, but the men seemed to recover quickly from the pain she inflicted. She held back screams as they overtook her.

* * *

When she awoke, her body screaming in agony though her mouth was silent, the only image her mind could bring forth was of her father, turning on his heels as he walked away and left her alone.

And what was worse, Ari had joined him.

Ziva didn't know how she managed to stagger long enough to find her way home. She tried to slip through the back door and make it to her room unnoticed, overwhelmed by shame and pain.

"Ziva." She froze at the stern voice at her back and turned trying to cover her dirty, bloody face. The pulsing pain as her fingers slid over lumps told her what she had feared. There would be no way to hide these bruises, the evidence of her defeat.

Her eyes seemed dead as she stared at her father. "I lost." she said, her voice hard.

Ziva turned and forced herself to walk back through the house. The back door crashed open and Ari stumbled in.

"I couldn't find . . .Ziva." He was speechless when he saw her. Before he could choke out a futile apology, she raised her bruised hand and with so little force it scared him, slapped him across the face. She stumbled into her room and locked the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for the delay. The "next chapter" I said I'd already written didn't end up fitting, so it'll turn up later. It took me a while to write this one.**

**

* * *

**

Ari hoisted the forest green bag over his right shoulder. Despite his well-strengthened back and powerful arms, he staggered under its physical weight and the emotional strain of what it represented––becoming more like his father everyday, three years away from the little girl who needed him and the sister he had failed so irreparably. The hallway was dark as he crept down it, trying to keep even his footsteps silent. His family was still asleep, and he needed to leave now: now before the sun cast light upon the terrible events of the night before, now, before every sight accused him of his failure and of his shame.

As he reached the end of the hallway, a narrow strip of light caught his eye. A door into one of the bedrooms was open at a crack. At first he cursed the obstacle to his escape. Then he realized that the room belonged to Ziva. Now he cursed himself for his naivety. Did he really expect his sister to be asleep? She should be sobbing, screaming – anything but sleeping.

As he tiptoed to the door, he sucked in a breath. Upon reaching the door, he hardly breathed. He could not alert her to his presence. The sight that met his eyes broke his well-worn heart.

The room was a mess, far different from the almost obsessively-neat space Ziva usually kept. The mattress was exposed on the bed, all the sheets ripped away. The green was in a heap on the floor, faint discolorations visible. Blood? Ari's stomach tightened. The lone ornament on the beige walls, a large, framed photograph of the family before Adina David's death, was nearly destroyed. The frame was split, the glass was cracked, and the photograph on the floor lie torn in half. The books that usually stood neatly in a row were on their sides, with several spilling onto the carpet and lying prostrate there, as if in submission to the terrible anger and pain of the fifteen-year-old girl who had unleashed her fury on her home.

Seeing Ziva sitting, huddled, in the middle of the room, Ari marveled that she had the strength to do such damage. He could imagine the scene in his mind - a fit of hate and sorrow-induced adrenaline in which she first attacked the books and the lamp, her old refuges, and when her pain was not relieved, reeked havoc on the picture on the wall with her fists, the picture of her family bearing witness to her shame and pain. He could see her turning, her fists in a worse shape than before, to let out the last vestiges of energy on the task of ripping the sheets from the bed, the wounds on her hands staining the fabric.

Now Ziva sat by the bed, inches from the sheets but not on top of them, as if refusing the slight comfort they would provide. She had dragged an old cardboard box from underneath the bed, and it now sat at her side, its contents strewn around her. A particularly angry looking elephant, a red teddy bear, a black monkey with exaggerated features, a diminutive-looking striped cat with an extra-long tail, a quaint bear with a button nose and embroidered blue eyes that had been her favorite when she was very young––they all were spread around her, in an even semi-circle, as if she had positioned them specifically. It took a second for Ari to realize what Ziva was doing and when he did, he felt the overwhelming urge - no, need - to reach into his heavy, military-issue bag, pull out his military-issue gun, and put a bullet into his own military-issue head. Because that was all he was, the man who would abandon his sister on an order.

With a howl, Ziva began ripping off the heads, tails, limbs, button noses and glued-on eyes of every stuffed animal present. As she did so, she began heaping abuses on the animals in English, Spanish, Arabic, in languages Ari didn't even recognize. She did so in every language except Hebrew. He couldn't take it anymore, the sight of his little sister surrounded by pink-tinged fluff, shaking uncontrollably without tears, screaming words he did not know. He dropped his bag on the ground with a heavy "thunk" and pulled open the door, stepped inside, and shut it softly behind him.

"We're going to the hospital. I'm sorry I didn't take you there the second you came in. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Ari declared, repeating his apology with a slight desperation which was only a shadow of the overwhelming guilt he felt.

Ziva tensed at once. She held in every muscle and despite their painful protests was able to still her shaking. "No!" she contradicted, her voice slightly raspy from unshed tears.

Ari took a step forward. "No, we have to. We should have done it immediately. Ziva, I'm so-"

"No! Nothing's broken. I'm not going." Her voice was resolute, and she bit the lip that had begun to shake.

"But-" Ari took a step forward as he spoke.

"No! Stop trying to act like you're such a great _protector_." Her raspy voice turned mocking. "You're trying to clean up your mess! Well, I don't need you. Now, or ever!" He took a never step forward and tried to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, which despite her best intentions had begun to tremble. She snarled. "Get away from me, you bastard! Get out! Leave! Ou-out!" Her voice broke on the last word.

Ari tried to beg her forgiveness again, but one more look of hatred from her battered face caused him to flee. He pulled open her door and slipped outside it, hoisted his bag up onto his shoulder, and struggled out of the backdoor. His emotional anguish had diminished his strength.

Ari deposited the bag on the steps and quickly began unzipping it. He was surprised how his hands were shaking as his mind condemned him. He was nothing. He was nothing but the bastard brother who had tried and failed to protect his little sister. Adina David was right. He had deserved ever condemnation she had heaped upon him. What had he done to Ziva, baiting her, competing with her in all the stupid games their father had concocted for them? What had it gotten her?

His shaking hands reached what they were seeking, and his fingers almost caressed the cold metal. Finally, he would get his due. Unfortunately, it was too late for Ziva. Ari saw her future flash before his eyes when he should have seen his past. In two or three years she would leave the house like him, bearing the heavy green bag, and put to use her combat education and her hate. Then with all the vigor and passion she would believe to be her own, she would set off to fulfill the destiny their father had contrived for her. Ari knew what a younger, more naive Ziva had not––Eli David did not plan for her only to be a spy, not with her skills with a gun, skills that had pleasantly surprised even their conniving father.

As he raised the gun, however, another face flashed through his mind, a rounder face with a happy smile and eyes that never hesitated to cry. The face belonged to a little girl with curly hair who only wanted to be a veterinarian, whose greatest goal in life, aside from world peace, was convincing Eli David that they needed, _needed_, a bunny rabbit. In two or three years, Ziva would be gone, and he knew that she would not be easily able to contact Tali. Tali would be left on her own, her education, time, training, everything, wholly at the mercy of Eli David.

The way his father had planned it, by that time Ari would be out of the military and in medical school. From there, if far away, at least he could watch over his sister and try to preserve some of the innocence that he cherished in her, the innocence that had been forever lost in Ziva. He failed for one, but maybe he could still be of some use to the other.

Ari forced his hand to lower the gun, and he put it back into its spot in the sack. Hating himself for every step, for every breath he continued to take, he forced himself to walk away from the house, clutching the heavy green bag and the guilt he knew he'd never lose.


	10. Chapter 10

_**I forgot to use italics in the last chapter for stuff Ziva wouldn't have seen, so use common sense for what Ziva wouldn't have told Tony. (Ari's remorse, his almost-suicide, etc.) I'm not sure how I like my use of italics, but I feel it's the clearest way to show what is extra information and what is part of Ziva's story as told to Tony.**

* * *

_

If Tony had been stunned before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. He was battling a thousand different impulses - the need to reach over and shield the woman in front of him from the horror of her memories, the itch in his fingers to book a red-eye flight to Tel Aviv and punch Eli David in his arrogant face, and the urge to go back in time and Gibbs-slap himself for every time he had made a suggestive comment to Ziva.

Ziva seemed unable to speak. Tony saw her glance up into his wide, concerned eyes and then down into her folded hands. He could see in her eyes that she had not intended to share this particular part of her life. Though her body remained still and her eyes continued their journey from eyes to hands to eyes to hands, he could see her retreating into herself. Tony gently placed his fingers on her folded hands.

"I'm sorry, Ziva." He knew his words were inadequate, but he had to say them. She gave him a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"It was a long time ago. I have moved on." Tony doubted that.

She shrugged halfheartedly. "The worst part was. . ." she closed her eyes briefly, trying to suppress her tears, ". . .after that, I gave up on Ari. He gave up on me." She laughed bitterly. "I was damaged, and he couldn't fix it. So he just gave up. And I couldn't forgive him. We both focused all of our efforts on Tali. She was our second chance. The sister he wouldn't fail, for him, and for me. . ."

She paused, and he could see that she was trying to organize long-cluttered thoughts.

"I couldn't get enough military, Mossad, training," she muttered, her voice getting more and more bitter with every word, "at that time. But something in me wanted to keep Tali just the way she was. Just Tali."

Tony smiled. "It sounds like she was pretty amazing."

Something in what Tony said finally forced the tears from Ziva's eyes, but her voice was still hard despite them. "Oh, yes. She was the rebel, she loved everything, she always looked for the best in everyone. . .except, of course, in me and Ari."

Newly-red eyes stared at Tony. "We sheltered her too much. She never knew the details about what happened in that alley. We never told her so many other things. She saw us grow bitter, angrier, harden, but we loved her too much to show her the reasons. She grew to hate us, Tony. My baby hated us!" Her voice broke, and she lost herself in the story of her past again.

* * *

_A female figure made her way through the crowd, clutching a notepad in one hand and a pencil in the other, her thick, curly hair flying enveloping her face, unrestrained. She brushed past carts full of citrus fruits, the reds, oranges, and yellows of their skins blurring together in her haste. The odor of cooking meat threatened to overwhelm her as it mingled with the sickly smell of sweat arising from the people surrounding her. Her heart was heavy with too many stories of sorrow. Despite all this, she pushed herself on, driven by a strange mixture of love and guilt._

_Tali feared some days that the strongest motivation for her actions was her guilt rather than her care and concern. After all, it had been guilt that had led her to abandon her career ambitions to a be a veterinarian and instead undertake the mission of investigative journalism in a desperate attempt to expose some of the horrors of the conflict to the outside world. It had been guilt that had spurred her to abandon her customary family summer vacation to Haifa, strangely empty with only her father, aunt, and her in attendance, and flee to the conflict-ridden city of Jerusalem. _

_It was a strange guilt, for she acknowledged that she herself was blameless. Despite that, what Tali saw as the sins of her family piled up on her shoulders and weighed her down, forcing her into a kind of desperate independence. She refused gifts of anything beyond basic necessities from her father. Even the simple white blouse and tan-colored pants she wore she despised. The same thought came to her over and over when she wore them - "blood money. This was bought with blood money. I was raised on blood money." The eyes of the broken that surrounded her silently condemned her for every material joy in her childhood._

_She had it all planned - her whole life would be lived in atonement for those of her family, the broken family she had grown to despise. Each one she loved so much it tore at her heart, yet each one disgusted her. She spoke to her father only when necessary. His disappointment in her was ever-present, but her disgust in him barred her from trying to earn his pride. As for her siblings, she refused to speak to them at all. Her memories of them were of moody, bitter, yet caring teenagers, a big brother and a big sister who held her hand and comforted her and protected her. Yet as she looked back, she could see the shadows of violence in their lives. They were shadows that haunted her memories. She was incapable of reconciling her love for them with the horrible things they did. _

…_..._

_Tali remembered her sister's last visit to their home, almost a year ago. Ziva had come in through the front door just as fifteen-year-old Tali, hearing her come, had disappeared out the back. Tali had waited a moment and reentered silently. She could hear her father and her sister's conversation from where she stood. _

"Target eliminated, father."

"Hm. Did you get the information before completing your ultimate assignment?"

A short, joyless laugh, a laugh so different from the one that Tali used to hear when her big sister used to tickle her: "He took some persuading, of course."

"Ah. DId he enjoy this persuasion?"

"It was not that kind of persuasion. But I assure you that this form made his death far more welcome to him," Ziva replied in a hard voice.

"Hm. It is cleaner the other way. Less evidence. Still, you did well, daughter."

"The intel will be written up and on your desk in an hour," Ziva said, unresponsive to his half-hearted praise.

Tali then had fled to the small bathroom, thrown up, and begun to cry at the horror of what her sister had done. She had heard a knock, long and steady, accompanied by a soft plea. "Tali, open up. Please, speak to me. You don't understand."

_Tali got that response a lot - 'you don't understand'. She hated it. She was not ignorant, naive, or stupid. She was raised just like them, trained just like them, at least until she told her father at the age of fourteen that she wouldn't learn to fight, shoot and manipulate anymore. Eli had looked outraged and struck her across the face. "You'll change your mind," he declared. Three months later she hadn't, and he gave up trying to convince her to. "You're a disappointment, daughter." _

_Even as she felt his words like a physical blow, Tali had never been so proud. _

_So despite Ziva's pleas, Tali ignored her. The knocks stopped twenty minutes later. Her tears did not._

_Ziva never came again to their house. She called every day for a month; all her calls went unanswered. The calls slowly decreased in frequency. Ari, on the other hand, never called and never came home. She had no idea where he was or what he was doing. She only knew he had ceased being a doctor - to do what her father wanted him to do._

_That was confirmation enough for Tali. She had lost her brother as well._

…_..._

_From then on, her own dreams were forever put on hold. Animals needed help, but people needed it more. _

_She turned the corner, lost in her thoughts. The crowd had thinned, and she was able to walk a little faster. She passed still more small stands of food with odors intensified by the afternoon sun. Already her notepad held testimonies of pain and need. "New millennium, same old problems," she muttered. "Same old conflict; same old war."_

_She stopped before a ramshackle home. Its open doorway revealed a single room. Though dark inside, the sun revealed a small child sitting alone on a faded couch with tuffs of stuffing sticking out of worn-through holes. In her small arms was a tiny toddler, dressed in a dirty pink shirt several sizes to large for him. Tali smiled at them and whispered a greeting. She took one small step forward._

_With the sudden blast of a bomb, the words that she had so carefully collected for the cause of peace were torn to shreds, destroyed by an act of war._

…_..._

Ziva strolled confidently up the stairs leading to her father's new office. As she marched through the door at the landing, she brushed her new side-swept bangs over the left side of her forehead, concealing the purplish bruise and inch-long gash that were just beginning to heal. She had completed her mission successfully; there was no need for him to see the small wounds she had sustained.

"I-" she started. She did not even get the second word out.

"Tali's dead." Eli stated. His voice hard, emotionless, yet with a lingering tone of defeat.

Ziva's heart broke as every emotion she had been suppressing for the last two years at Mossad was released with a vengeance inside her. Love. Hate. Pain. Need. Failure.

She breathed in and out, trying to suppress them again. Ziva knew she must push through despite the tragedy.

"How?" she breathed.

"Hamas bomb blast in Jerusalem"

"Why the hell wasn't she in Haifa?" she stormed. But the answer came to her in flashback of a locked door and muffled sobs. "She hated us," she whispered, forgetting that she was trying to suppress her emotions, forgetting that the man before her was acting as her commanding officer and not her father, forgetting everything but a fiery lash of guilt.

Eli looked up at her, and his voice had changed. The defeat left it, replaced by a faint, angry confidence. "She thought what we do is wrong, that we are intensifying the war. But what did her love of peace get her? Death by the enemy. She never understood." His gaze narrowed as Ziva tried to control the anger that was swelling up inside of her. How could they could have done that to her innocent, pure sister? "You do, Ziva. Two out of three isn't too bad, is it?" he said wistfully.

That pushed Ziva over the edge. Gritting her teeth, she turned and stiffly walked out of the sterile office.

"Uh!" immediately upon getting out of the building, out of earshot of her father, she punched the nearest wall. Her fists pummeled the concrete, and she took a sick comfort in the bruises she could feel blooming on her knuckles. Suddenly, a hand caught her fist as it began its plummet to the wall. She was thrown off balance by the strength of the grip.

"You can't pull a trigger with a broken hand, Ziva," the soft male voice behind her said.

"Ari?" Ziva turned to face him. It was two years since she had seen him; her first years in Mossad and the beginning of his deep undercover assignment had sent them on different paths, paths that didn't cross. Her shock at hearing his voice was nothing compared to her shock at the emotion is arose in her. Even considering his betrayal that had driven them apart so many years ago, deep down, she still needed her big brother.

"Tali, Ari." Her eyes were free of tears. It was as if she had forgotten how to cry.

"What about her? Where's she run away to now?"

"Jerusalem. But Ari she's-"

Ari's voice was hard as he said, emphatically: "Good for her."

"She's dead! Hamas." He was silent. That was something she hadn't expected. No reply. She felt her control loosen yet again.

"Ari! I want to kill them! I want to kill all of them! How could they have done that to her. All she wanted was people to see the good in others. She was naive, but she was. . . Tali! My baby," she shuddered and her voice broke as if she was sobbing, yet her eyes were dry.

Ari's voice remained quiet still, but she detected an inexplicable hint of irony. "You'll get your chance. It's what you've dedicated your life to, right? Eli must be so proud."

"You've dedicated your life to it too, Ari!"

He gave a faint laugh. It would be years before she understood that laugh. "Don't worry, Ziva. Those responsible will be punished."

He held her hand, still in a fist, for a second more, then turned and left, saying only, "Don't hurt yourself Ziva."

_As he walked away, his head filled with an inexplicable pain he thought he had suppressed. The horrible news he had just received only confirmed his awakening. Anger washed over him as he thought about what _they_ had done to his closest family, starting with his mother, now dead at his father's hand. With the death of his little sister, the last trace of regret he felt at betraying Israel was wiped away, yet it brought him no relief. And Ziva. She was the enemy, and yet he loved her. Her presence in Mossad brought him no doubts, but only angered him and strengthened his resolve, reminding him what his father was capable of, what he had made his sister. She was the perfect warrior for Israel. _

"_I hope this never comes down to you and me, Ziva," he thought. "What he has made you into . . .it is what I am fighting. May fate spare you." Then he hardened his resolve and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

_

"He was a traitor, even then. Even though they killed Tali." For the first time of the night, Ziva's voice filled with anger as Tony faced her, helpless.. "They killed her, and he betrayed us to them!"

"He hated Eli more than he loved Tali. More then he loved me. I lost my brother then, though I did not know it at the time."

Tony shook his head. "You're wrong. He still loved you."

"Not enough to take away his hate." Ziva realized something at that moment, and she desperately wanted to say the words that had almost sprung her mouth. _Not like you, Tony. _

Tony was willing to reconsider his hatred of Ari because he loved her and wanted to take away her pain more than he wanted to hold on to his vengeance. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of gratefulness like none she had ever felt.

* * *

**Please review! I'm curious to know what you all thought of this chapter_. _Thanks for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

The gray walls that rose like stone to meet the fortified ceiling seemed to be shrinking around her, trapping her, narrowing her focus so all she could see and hear were the khaki uniforms and gruff voices of the men surrounding the steel table in the center of the room. All the oxygen seemed to have rushed from the spot near the door where she stood sentinel, and in its absence the five words that had just been uttered seemed to echo: _Ari Haswari must be terminated._

Ziva's face betrayed no emotion. Her hands remained stiff at her sides. She had been ordered to the meeting to observe and not to participate. Despite the overwhelming urge to scream in opposition to the pronouncement that had just been made, she obeyed.

Eli David, now Deputy Director of Mossad, sat at the head of the table surveying his subordinates. All the men were high-ranking officers of Mossad, far older and of greater authority than Ziva.

She had wondered why she'd been allowed to attend a meeting such as this one; well, now she understood. Her well-hardened stomach, unaccustomed to squeamishness of any kind, turned in disgust. She had only last month been promoted to Control Officer and assigned Ari because of her intimate knowledge of his case; now, it seemed, they were going to calmly explain that she was relieved from that particular duty. A firm reprimand would probably accompany the order - in her time as Control Officer, she had obviously missed the fact that Ari had gone rogue.

Ziva felt an unfamiliar panic rising in her. No. It couldn't be true. Ziva David could not have missed the fact that she was monitoring a traitor. There was only one alternative.

The men before her were preparing to order a hit on an innocent man.

And she would be required to nod and say, "yes sir!" and watch them gun down her brother.

Clenching her jaw to control her breathing, Ziva forced herself to remain motionless and focus on the meeting, despite the fact that she was almost trembling in anger. Her father had just given his assent.

"You're right, Officer Golan. This is an outrage and an embarrassment, not to mention a serious threat," Eli David agreed, nodding to the man at his right.

"We cannot hesitate." Officer Golan looked around the room. "There is one problem, however. He is in America, and we simply can't risk his return."

"So we send someone," another man volunteered, the tone of his voice suggesting his idea was the simplest in the world.

"That presents a certain. . .problem," Officer Golan responded. "The Americans do not look too kindly at our. . .housecleaning. . .within their borders. We will have to be careful. Relations between our two countries are critical."

"Hm," Eli David muttered, considering the issue. "There might be one way through an NCIS agent. What was his name?"

He looked around the room, awaiting an answer. When no one responded, Ziva supplied it, using the wealth of information she had acquired about the Americans Ari had come in contact with. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS, Washington DC. Sir."

"Gibbs. He hates Haswari, has wanted to kill him ever since he threatened a member of his team. Haswari will not stand such a constant threat; if he wants to be secure, he'll have to take out this. . .Gibbs. Here is what we will do. We'll send someone who will wait for that _one_ moment in which Ari Haswari has a gun on Gibbs and then they will strike. America will honor them as a hero."

Officer Golan nodded in appreciation, and then an idea hit him. "That's it. That is the opportunity we are looking for."

"I don't follow."

"To get someone in NCIS!" His voice filled with passion. "Relations have been tense; a liaison is what we need. What if this liaison is the one who saves this _Gibbs_' life, as a gesture of good faith, you understand? We can dispose of Haswari and establish trust with NCIS with one bullet."

_Dispose of Haswari. _Dispose of him, like used-up garbage, like a faultily manufactured gun. Surely the assassin assigned to the case would see his innocence and stop before his blood was spilt?

No. Of course not. Names began flashing through Ziva's mind, names she had tried to block out but that haunted her in her sleep. They were her targets, her successes. They differed in almost every way: they were old men and young ones, some wealthy and others recruited from the chains of poverty. They all shared one common quality, however: they had all died at her hand, charged with crimes she never saw them commit, her mind never questioning their guilt.

Eli David nodded in appreciation of the plan. "Perhaps. Still, I doubt whether Director Morrow would be willing to let one my people in and give them such intimate knowledge of his operations."

Ziva's mind was in a whirl, but from the buzz came a sudden clarity as one piece of recently-acquired intel revealed the only course of action available to her, the only way she could save her brother.

She stepped forward. "Permission to speak?"

Eli David nodded. "Granted."

"Tom Morrow's days as Director of NCIS are limited. He is soon to be replaced by Jennifer Shepard." She paused slightly, allowing the men to absorb her words.

"And?" inquired Officer Golan.

Ziva took a deep breath, and, praying that they would agree to her proposition, presented her idea. "I have worked ops with Agent Shepard in the past. She trusts me. I saved her life on our mission in Cairo. I believe she would be open to the addition," Ziva paused for a fraction of a second, "if it were to be me." She abruptly stopped talking, afraid she had overstepped her bounds and put to risk their acceptance of her plan.

Officer Golan, on the other hand, did not seem to mind her assertiveness. "I like it," he muttered, nodding appreciatively, "that could work."

A small man near the end of the table leaned forward, confusion marking his face. "Are we proposing that Officer David completes _both _parts of this mission?"

"It seems the most logical choice, considering our options," Eli David responded, glaring at the man sternly.

"I'm sorry," the man replied, "but won't her personal relationship with the target of interest compromise the mission?"

Ziva tried to hide the desperation in her voice in anger. "Of course not! A target is a target, I do not establish conn-"

"Ziva!" Eli David cut her off, and she bristled. They were in a Mossad setting; she wanted him to treat her like any other officer, not as his headstrong daughter. "Can you complete the mission?"

"Yes sir."

"He will not be able to convince otherwise? You have not seen him in some time, Ziva."

"Director," she said firmly. "What needs to be done will be done."

Eli David's face betrayed a rare flash of emotion. The men around the table noticed it and glanced around surreptitiously. He had never shown her partiality; if anything, he was harder on his daughter than on his other officers. Would he start now?

"Ziva. . ." Admiration and regret mingled in his tone.

Ziva cut him off. "The mission will be completed, I assure you. Now, specifics?"

Eli nodded. "Very well. Golan, brief her."

_Eli watched them leave the room, Ziva's walk even stiffer than usual. Then he shrugged. "It's for the best," he thought. "At least she is loyal. I was afraid. . ." but he didn't even let himself finish that thought. How could he have even wondered if Ziva would choose Ari over him? He settled back against his chair, trying to immerse himself in his reestablished confidence and chase away the lingering guilt._


	12. Chapter 12

Ziva shifted in the large, faux-leather seat. Her gaze lingered on the passports in her lap, though her eyes surreptitiously shot every now and then to her right to ensure that the elderly woman beside her was still asleep. Sure enough, the woman continued snoring lightly, her fingers resting motionlessly on the pale gold yarn strewn across her lap.

"Miss?" Deep in her musings, the voice hardly registered with her. "Miss. . .Saurel?" The flight attendant asked again tentatively.

_Leazazel_, Ziva cursed silently. The flight attendant had spotted the fake passport in her lap. Swiftly she flipped Ari's passport closed while staring straight up at the woman. The middle-aged flight attendant widened motherly eyes in concern at Ziva's disorientation.

"Yes?" Ziva answered quietly, infusing a slight French accent into her voice after racking her brains to ensure that she hadn't already spoken to this woman.

"I'm so sorry, dear. I was just wondering if you wanted a beverage. Tea? Coffee? Wine, although I'm sure we have nothing that compares to what you're used to in France." The flight attendant put her hands on her rounds hips and smiled. "What'll it be, m'dear?"

"Just water, please."

"Yes, Miss Saurel. May I get you a blanket? You're shivering."

"No, water will be fine, thank you." Ziva muttered, struggling to maintain her accent. While in Hebrew or Arabic she could mimic the accent of anyone from an Iraqi to an Egyptian, changing her accent in English required real concentration.

She cursed herself for the complication. Revealing the passports was a rookie mistake.

"Are you sure, dear? I could get you some coffee, or a hot towel, maybe? We don't want our passengers to suffer any discomfort."

"I am fine," Ziva snapped. She _was _trembling, but she tried to convince herself that it was caused by the cool chill present in the openness of the first class cabin. Normally on Mossad ops when traveling on civilian flights was required, the officers would be allotted cramped seats in coach. While she could only guess why she had been allowed this luxury, the answer was clear to her. It was her father's incredibly insufficient way of saying: _Thank you for killing your brother for me, Ziva. Have a comfortable flight._

It was no more than she would have expected from him. Only Eli David would think a round-trip ticket first class would even begin to make up for the death of a brother.

She wouldn't even be using the return ticket; at least, she would not be going to Tel Aviv.

Ziva knew what she had to do; she would get Ari his passport and take hers, and then they could meet in Paris. Only then could she begin to untangle the mystery behind Ari's actions and be able to plan how to convince Eli David of the truth-that Ari was completely innocent. Cold, maybe. Impulsive, maybe. Hardened by the life Eli had given him, definitely. But innocent.

Deep down, she knew that her trembling was not because of the cold, but rather was due to the enormity of what she doing.

By shepherding her brother to safety rather than to the grave, she, Ziva David, Mossad's most devoted officer, the steely-eyed killer, was disobeying a direct order. By doing so without telling her father, by _deceiving him_, even, she was going rogue. Though she was confident that once she spoke to Ari she would be able to convince her father of his innocence, the consequences of the act she was about to commit weighed upon her.

What was worse, she had to trust others. For the first time in her life, Ziva was grateful for Mossad's cumbersome chain-of-command protocol. The small team of officers already in DC were entirely under her authority. With a little luck, they would never know that the orders they would carry out came solely from her and not from her superiors.

"Here you go, Miss Saurel," the flight attendant said cheerfully as she handed Ziva a clear plastic cup full of water.

Ziva breathed deeply before thanking her. She took a couple of sips to calm herself._ Get it together,_ she thought angrily. Now was not the time to become a nervous wreck.

To her frustration, the flight attendant flopped herself down in the empty chair across the aisle from Ziva and smiled at her widely. Ziva forced a smile in return.

"So, where in France are you from? I'm from Texas, myself."

"Paris."

"Oh! How lovely! I do love Paris. We don't fly there as much as I'd like. Instead, I always get lines like this. I wouldn't mind spending a little less time in the desert. I need some _culture,_ you know? Some rain and _culture._" She laughed, and Ziva stopped herself from narrowing her eyes at the crack at her homeland.

"France certainly does not lack that, Madame. . . .?"

The woman chuckled. "No, no. Call me Nan."

"Nan, then. I am sorry, I am a little tired. . ." Ziva let her voice fade off.

"Oh, of course. Let me know if you need anything." Ziva nodded, and as soon as Nan had walked away, humming to herself, she reached into her carry-on bag and pulled out a magazine at random. She had bought the magazines without thinking, and almost laughed as she saw the one she pulled out.

It was the American men's magazine GSM, in the Hebrew edition. She considered chucking it back into her bag and removing her more intellectual novel instead, but then reconsidered. She wasn't in the mood to read the passionate, controversial, tiresome book she had packed. And so she settled back and tried to forget her fears and pain in the empty articles.

Three hours later as the airplane approached Dulles International Airport, the elderly woman beside her awoke.

"Scandalous," she gasped under her breath as she spotted her neighbor's reading material.

* * *

Miles away and years later, Tony shook his head in confusion.

"Ziva . . . I don't understand." Ziva narrowed her eyes, suddenly defensive. Noticing this, Tony backtracked.

"No, Ziva. It's just that. . .you really loved him, didn't you? You really thought he was innocent?"

A shadow of anger passed over Ziva's face. "You do not understand how I could be so naive, so stupid? How I, _I_, could let my emotions overpower my judgment. Is that what you do not understand?"

Tony gripped her hands and caressed them. When he spoke, each word was laced with astonishment. "No. It's just. . .you had all that planned, Ziva. And Gibbs ruined it. Gibbs killed Ari, he killed your _brother_, and yet you are able to work with him, work with _us,_ be a part of this team. Everyday. I guess I never realized how hard it is for you."

She closed her eyes, the anger leaving her face. "It is not difficult, Tony."

"I can't understand, Ziva."

"You are wrong, Tony. You are wrong about Gibbs. I do not blame him for my deed."

"Wait- What are you saying?"

"Gibbs did not kill Ari. I killed my brother." She shed no tears as she said these last words, but something indefinable left her eyes. Tony merely gaped at her for a moment, and then, without speaking a word, leaned forward and embraced her.

Startled by the contact, Ziva was jarred from her haze. "How are you not disgusted, Tony?" In her confusion, tears were beginning to fill her eyes again.

"Because, Ziva, after all that, If you killed him. . .you had to have a reason. You know that; I know that. Ari was guilty. Ari was dangerous. Ziva, I'm so sorry." She nodded, holding in the tears that threatened to fall again.

"I was convinced he did nothing, Tony. But the Ari I found in America was not the Ari I thought I knew."

"When you can, you need to tell me," Tony urged her.

She nodded again. "I am."

* * *

Reviews are appreciated, as always!


	13. Chapter 13

**Well, that was a long unplanned hiatus. I won't go into a long list of excuses, because people have written brilliant stories with far less time and far more stress than I had, so without further adieu, chapter 13 of "Memories of a Monster."**

**This is actually the last chapter. The story didn't seem to need more. I am sorry I left you so long with only one to go!**

**If you don't remember, we left off with Ziva on a plane coming to America with two fake passports, preparing to save Ari and learn the truth. We pick up on a different airplane. . .**

**

* * *

**

She was on the wrong airplane, plummeting through the air to the wrong destination, accompanied by the wrong people.

This wasn't what was suppose to happen. She wasn't suppose to be sitting horizontal across the rumbling body of a C-17 cargo plane. She was suppose to be staring at the back of a chair in first class on route to Paris, not a box bearing the body of the brother who was suppose to accompany her there.

She wasn't suppose to have completed the mission.

And still, it felt like she hadn't completed it at all. There was none of that numb satisfaction that usually accompanied a successful mission, that nearly-suppressed yearning to see her father's satisfied nod; there was none of the relief at the knowledge she would live, if only to kill again.

Ziva let her eyes drift around the airplane, pausing to glare at the woman who stared at her from across the body of her brother lying in the makeshift coffin. No blue and white flag was in sight. There was no honor available for traitors.

Her plan had been so perfect, and, indeed, it had begun perfectly. A perfect transfer, a flight scheduled for later in the week––all this had been completed effortlessly. Her ground team had obeyed her orders without question, believing that the commands given to them came from the highest ranks of Mossad and not from the plotting of a rogue and desperate protégé.

They'd never know, not now the mission had been completed. When they reported back to Mossad, there would be no looks of shock, no explosions of rage at the news of Ziva's treachery. No, there would only be that careless, satisfied nod.

Yet while her plan had begun perfectly, everything had crumbled down around it. The older agent's suspicions made far too much sense and Ari's excuses far too little.

And then, he himself erased them.

It became clear in an instant: her brother was dead, overtaken by a treasonous monster willing to kill innocents that had joined the group that had violently murdered their sister, that yearned for the destruction of the nation she had vowed to protect.

He would be dead soon, she knew it at the time. When the news of her inability to complete the assignment came to Mossad, another would be sent, and Ari would be dead. Willful Mossad assassins do not fail.

And then, as the sneering shadow of her lost brother pointed the rifle at the agent confidently smiling back at him, her finger reacted almost without her conscious approval. Yet she had given it––somewhere, in her brain fogged by horror, her training, allegiance, and the strange, stark, inscrutable morals of Mossad forced her hand.

Protect the innocents. Eliminate the threats.

Gibbs was innocent. Everything about him screamed "innocent," from his cool confidence in justice to the agony he expressed over his agent's death.

The other man, the shadow of her brother, was the threat.

Protect the innocents. Eliminate the threats.

And so she had.

* * *

"You did the right thing, you know that?" Tony squinted through the darkness to peer at her face.

Ziva shook her head. "There was no 'right thing,' Tony. But somebody was going to die; Gibbs did not deserve death, and he…Ari…he was already dead."

"Does Eli know?" She let out a small ironic noise. "Huh."

"What?"

"He did not then, no. Gibbs told everyone––you, the director, Mossad––that he had killed Ari. My father was not pleased––"

* * *

_Slam!_

Ziva jumped. She had expected feigned sorrow or undisguised indifference from her father. She had not expected his anger.

"This was your mission, Ziva, and you let an American complete it for you!"

Ziva glanced out the window behind her father's death. The sun glared down from an unnaturally clear sky, searing the colors of yellow and grey into her retinas; the weather was such a contrast to the stormy days she had experienced in the United States. Somehow, her sorrow burned hotter without the rain.

"You do not understand. I––"

"No. It is you who is without understanding. The American now has eliminated one of our enemies. Rather than him being in debt to you, we are in debt to him, simply because of your incompetence! Or perhaps you were not able to pull the trigger. Do not volunteer for a mission you cannot complete, Ziva!"

"Gibbs's passion was unstoppable, Director. He got to Ari before the opportunity presented itself to me!"

"Do not shout at me, Ziva. You do not understand the tremulous political position you have left me in. Mossad still need to get someone into NCIS. You have ruined our only opportunity." Ziva's blood boiled at his calm words, and to her shock tears began to burn in her eyes. She glanced again at the window, trying to disguise her rapid blinking as a reaction to the intense sunlight.

"Perhaps not," she suggested, her voice hardening to disguise its slight tremor. "I can still capitalize on my relationship with Jenny Shepard."

He grunted again. "And why should I send you?"

"I am our only chance." He searched her face, then looked down at the papers on his desk.

"Perhaps you'd better. It seems this would be a better mission for you than your previous ones. More fitting to your abilities. Or lack thereof." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her.

* * *

"––of course," Ziva finished, "his anger mellowed, he started to desire my return, and when he learned the truth, he tried to use it on Vance to get me back."

"How'd he find out? I mean, only you and Gibbs knew, right? I didn't even know, and I'm sure you didn't tell him."

"No, I did not tell my father. I did, however, tell someone, and that was my mistake. Rule number 4. 'The best way to keep a secret; keep it to yourself. The second best way is to share with one other person.' I deluded myself into thinking there was a third best."

"Who'd you tell?"

She sighed. "Michael."

* * *

Ziva sat on a beige couch, one of her bare feet resting on the faded tile floor. She watched as Tel Aviv buzzed outside her building. It was her hometown, the powerful, frenetic city of her childhood. It was her current residence.

Yet she felt like a foreigner there. She yearned to go out on assignment, to get away from the apartment she was chained to. She hadn't even bothered to completely furnish the stark rooms, and, other than the couch and a small table with one chair, the living room was completely bare.

At least her return had not been her father's victory, she reasoned. It was the new director of NCIS, Leon Vance, who had eliminated her position and sent her back to Israel. Between Jenny's death, the separation from her team, and her unescapable loneliness in Israel, however, she was incredibly restless.

The apartment door creaked opened. Her head darted around, and her hand leapt to her gun. She sprung to her feet, before slipping her gun back into its place. "Is it so hard to knock, Michael?"

He laughed. "I wanted to see your reaction, Ziva," he trolled. She rolled her eyes and sat back down on the couch. She was not in the mood for his jokes.

"Do you have a mission?" she asked him blankly.

"Must we speak of work?" he muttered, rubbing her back. Her coldness was a clear answer.

"Actually, _we_ have a mission, Ziva, in Morocco. It is not for many weeks, however. We need time to plan, prepare."

She threw him a look of frustration. "I was hoping we would have an assignment sooner."

"Patience, Ziva, patience." He searched her face. "You still miss them, do you not?" He spat a little on the word "them."

She shrugged, but her eyes revealed her true feelings.

"It is good you left those people," Michael asserted. "I know America was. . .pleasing to you, but Israel is your home. Besides, it would have made you weak if you remained there much longer."

She shook her head, unconvinced. "They are some of the strongest people I know."

"Hm. A leader who quits when hurt, a partner who allowed his emotions to ruin a mission, a teammate who can barely fight––"

"––and the strongest people I know," she reasserted. "Besides, how do you know so much about my team?"

"I am Mossad. Have you forgotten the resources we have at our disposal? I also know that your boss killed your brother." He began to kiss her neck, and she shrunk away from him. "How, my dear, can you trust a man like that?"

"You do not know as much as you think you do, Michael." She sighed. "Ari was a traitor; I, not Gibbs, eliminated him." Her gaze grew cold and steady. Michael moved his face towards hers.

"Well then, Ziva. I will make you want to stay," he muttered as he began to kiss her again. And sighing heavily, wanting to block out the emotions she had unearthed, she joined in the kiss.

* * *

Tony growled. "Michael was a jerk, Ziva."

"I know. He told Eli, Eli told Vance-–"

"––trying to get you back?"

"Yes. NCIS catches murderers. It does not harbor them."

"You're no murderer."

"Anyway, Vance told Gibbs. Gibbs believed him, believed that I lied to him when I told him that I killed my brother to protect his life."

Tony looked outraged. "How could he believe that! You're no, I don't know, coldhearted killer!"

Ziva answered slowly. "It was the time Gibbs le- I stayed behind in Israel. I was not the most trustworthy person at that time."

He shook his head vigorously. "Nah, I still would have believe you."

Ziva smiled, a wide, sincere smile. "I know you would have, Tony. I know."

He leaned forward and tentatively wrapped his arms around her. She started. The hug, certainly not paternal but not particularly romantic either, was tender on a level a kiss could never obtain. She fought the urge to pull away, to say she did not need his help, for she realized that they had already moved passed that point in the last few hours.

So she hugged him back, laying her head on his chest near his heart. "You didn't do anything wrong," he repeated gently. And she smiled, because she actually believed it this time.

She knew tomorrow would be just like yesterday, that nothing would have changed, and somehow, that brought her a soft joy. Tony was able to comfort her but not look down on her, because she herself had comforted him so many times.

Yet perhaps something will have changed. Not all changes are bad, she realized.

She finally left his embrace. "Here," Tony muttered. "Let me drive you home."

She shook her head. "You have your vigil, Tony, and I have a car."

"No, Gibbs is right. Maybe this is kinda silly. I mean, I remember her anyway."

Ziva shook her head again. "Do you think I do not still sit and remember Ari, despite everything he has done. How much more should you remember Kate, who only did good?"

He shrugged. Ziva sat more comfortably in her seat and smiled at him.

"Tell me about Kate, Tony."

He grinned and settled back down. "Well, she was like the sister I've never had, you can't even imagine how annoying, and probably the second best partner in the world. . ."

* * *

**Well, I hope you enjoyed "Memories of a Monster." **

**I'd really appreciate it if you'd review. It'd be nice to know I still have _some _readers despite the unexpected hiatus. Thanks! **


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